Hush Now
by Streamstrider
Summary: An Aes Sedai heals a battle-wounded Whitecloak, and through a series of events leading to Amador, the two form an unlikely connection that appalls the Child of the Light, even more so as he learns of her true identity.
1. Found Alive

Chapter 1 – Found Alive (Edited 7/17/2012)

* * *

The wind brought with it the smell of blood and rotting flesh, a smell all too familiar to the woman's nose. It caught her hair and blew it back in rippling red wisps; she fought the urge to run her hands through it, as if she could remove the grime of the scent that threatened to consume her. Horrendous as it was, this was no time to lose face. She tightened her hand around the pale white staff she carried. They had been riding for hours, following rumors of a band of Trollocs raging through the countryside. It seems that the rumors could now be laid to rest.

Alida looked on with stern eyes. Trollocs lay scattered on the ground, their victims mixed with them in a blur of red and white. Whitecloaks. Children of the Light. She assumed the battle had been fairly recent, though long enough prior to their arrival to warrant the smell.

"Check for survivors," she ordered, urging her mare forward. _If there are any_.

"It appears they were outnumbered."

The mare stopped, and her rider turned her head back to look at the approaching woman. She was clad in dark green, dress, cloak; even her big bay gelding's blanket was green. Jamila Sedai of the Green Ajah. One of her three Warders rode at her side. The other two were probably in the mass searching for the living they may never find. The red-head thought to smile but refrained and returned to gazing out over the mess the dead had made of the valley.

"So it would seem." The golden mare pranced in place beneath her, nostrils flaring at the smell. Alida patted the silken white mane and clicked with her tongue. She couldn't sit and discuss what happened just yet. There was still that small possibility that someone was out there. Still breathing.

The palomino stepped delicately through the throng of bodies that littered the ground, every now and then letting out a snort of displeasure. The dainty animal was no horse of war, but rather she was a gilded empress, a graceful, noble creature. Alida used her hands and legs to prevent the mare from turning on her heels, away from the carnage.

"Araz?" Alida said, when the mare stopped and refused to budge. The woman sighed and dismounted. It would probably be easier to see the soldiers on foot anyway.

Holding the reins in one hand and her skirts in the other, she mingled through the bodies, carefully looking over each one. It felt like ages were passing, and the smell wasn't helping matters. Neither was the horror that was the gory jumble of men and Trollocs.

Then she paused. Her eyes narrowed, blue pools flooding over one form of reddened white, a form she could have sworn had made some sort of movement. However small the movement had been, she believed it warranted a look. So she dropped the reins and made her way over.

Alida knelt quietly at the man's side, picking up his wrist and checking for a pulse. He was still alive, if only barely. Her face was no representation of the surprise she felt at his living.

The gold sunburst on his left breast was marred by blood, clotting up at the opening of a wound on his chest. She was sure that was not the only wound she would find.

"Alida?" Jamila came forward on foot and looked over the Whitecloak as Alida began to move limbs of others off of his legs. Broken.

"Jared!" Alida called. Guards came to her, Jared at the head. "Set up camp over the ridge and bring this man to my tent."

Jared did not question her orders and immediately gathered the rest of the guards to help his group. Jamila seemed put off by Alida's ignorance of her address. She bent down to examine the man Alida had found, and after a few moments of observation, she stood, shaking her head. "He is a fine-looking fellow, Alida. But there is nothing you can do for him."

Alida did not care, and her tone of voice said as much. "I will do what I can for him." She looked down at his face. His dark brown hair was matted with blood and dirt. Dirty was, of course, an understatement. But she had to admit to herself. Jamila was right about him being fine-looking, handsome even, if he was cleaned up. It was almost enough to make her smile.


	2. Meet the Floor

He woke up. Warm, cloaked in blankets of the softest cloth he had ever felt. There was a strange feeling building up inside of his still weary mind, something that put him on guard. Against what, he had no clue, but he would trust his instincts.

Brown eyes cleared with a bit of blinking, and they took in what they could of the dimly lit room. No, tent, was it? There were candles. Only a few.

Where in the world was he? Whose tent was he in? A pain ran through his head, and he closed his eyes, breathing in deeply and trying to let the moment pass. It only seemed to get worse. He shifted his body slightly, and then winced at the burning in his chest. All of a sudden he felt the rush of soreness flow over his limbs.

"You have been asleep for days."

He moved his head carefully, hoping not to get an even worse headache than he already had. The soft voice was obviously female, but all his eyes could see was a figure seated by the entrance of the tent. The candles' bit of light glinted on the woman's face but not enough to get a good look. His eyes were starting to blur again.

"Where . . . am I? And who are you?" He blinked, trying to clear his vision but failing to do so. "What happened?" His voice was shallow and noticeably strained.

"I will answer your questions in time. For now, rest." The answer made him not the least bit easy, but his weariness was weighing down on him. He closed his eyes, and it did not take long for him to fall asleep again.

Alida stepped out of the tent quietly, greeted by the evening sun. Another night was yet to pass, one she hoped would be peaceful. By morning, the man should at least be able to speak coherently, and think soundly, or so she hoped.

"What do you plan to do with him?"

Alida visibly frowned upon hearing Jamila's voice. "You speak of him as if he is an item broken and useless."

"I mean nothing of that kind, Alida." The Green stood stoically in front of the Blue, brown eyes critical of the other. Those eyes had won many a battle by the simplest stare, but Alida had never found it threatening or disturbing. Her pale blond hair was cut short, with the longer strands framing her fair face. She was a thin woman, with a comely appearance about her, curves in all the right places. Sometimes Alida thought the woman should return to her home city and become a noblewoman, maybe play around with some guardsmen.

"Nevermind," Jamila said, when she realized Alida was not going to reply. "I leave early in the morning for the Tower." Still nothing. "How long do you plan to stay out here?"

"Perhaps a week," Alida finally spoke. "It all depends on how quickly the man recovers."

"I will leave most of the men with you, then."

"That is not necessary. A few will do. I am sure many are anxious to go home."

"Yes. Quite a few considered this mission a waste."

_But it was not,_ Alida told herself. She changed the subject. "Where are your Warders?"

Jamila laughed lightly. "They are around. None are on too tight a leash with me."

"Why does that not surprise me? You were never too strict on anything before, even with Novices."

"They see my strict side a fair amount," Jamila defended, though not too boldly. She was eight years Alida's elder, but respect was not lost among other Aes Sedai, no matter the age. Alida, despite her odd youth, was one who held a commanding presence more common to the elders.

A breeze blew by, sending Alida's hair swirling. She calmly unfolded her arms and lifted a hand to push some of her hair behind her ear. "Tell only the necessary details," she said, softening her voice. "Our attention should remain on our relations with the Children, especially after this."

Jamila was taken aback but appeared unfazed.

Before she could reply, Alida said, "In any case, I will see you upon my return. I suggest you finish making your preparations and gathering your men."

"Very well." Jamila shrugged and started to walk away. "Take care not to get yourself into trouble."

Alida, again, remained silent, leaving Jamila's words to fade with the rising whistle of the wind. She truly hoped that the man she had saved would not hold ill will toward her, but there was a strong chance he would if he knew she was Aes Sedai.

Well, they would just have to see what happened in the morning.

* * *

Harsh light found rest against the man's eyelids, causing him to stir. He moved slowly, his body still sore but relatively better-feeling than last evening. Wait. . . . It was not dark. His eyes blinked open as he glared in the direction of the light's source. What he saw momentarily lifted his mind from the way his body felt, and he was awestruck. The woman standing at the tent's entrance looked to be a noblewoman. Very beautiful. But, that could be the sleep talking. The Creator_ knew_ he was not thinking straight.

She stood with her right hand on the tent's flap, holding it to the side as she stared out. The light fell upon her form, a light glimmer appearing on the silver embroidery of her blue dress. Its dark shade contrasted so greatly with the vibrant red of her hair, waves of crimson cascading over her shoulders, shimmering with the light's gentle caress.

She turned to look at him, and he saw her eyes. Enthralled in their blue depths, he did not realize he was leaning closer and closer to edge of his bed. Before a few seconds' passing, the floor suddenly came up to meet him, and once again, he was reminded of his pain.

Before he could even think of how to move in order to get up, she was there by his side, gentle hands grasping him and helping him find his balance as he attempted to rise.

"I would not have suggested hitting the floor for quicker recovery," she said. He looked up to her as she helped him, and her smile graced his view.

"It was not exactly planned," he muttered hoarsely. When he was finally seated back on his bed, he began to take in the tent's interior with clearer vision. The tent's flap had closed, and the tent was now dimly lit by two candles, which, as in the last time he had awoken, did not give much light.

"I doubt much of your predicament was planned."

"My predicament?" He accepted a cup of water and watched as the woman seated herself in a nearby chair.

"We found you." She calmly lifted a cup of water to her lips and brought it back to her lap before continuing. "You and your men had been in a battle with Trollocs."

A look of panic crossed his face, and he nearly dropped his own cup. He made a move to get up, but pain shot through his legs, more so in one than the other. The look he gave the woman as he resigned to sitting was fierce. "My men? What happened to them?"

"Slaughtered," she replied coolly. "I am afraid you were the only one we found who still breathed."

He brought his right hand to his face in silent remorse. "How long . . ." he started. "How long have I been here?"

"Three full days have passed."

"Why?"

The woman stared at him, inwardly puzzled.

"Why did you stop to help me?" he asked again, seemingly urged by her silence to repeat his question with more clarity. "You are obviously someone of noble status. Why would you help me, unless you wanted something in return?" He groaned as a sudden pain shrouded his mind.

"You should not overexert yourself," she said, setting aside his question. She reached out and removed the cup from his hand, placing both his and hers on a small stand.

"I am not . . . I . . ."

"What is your name?" she asked him. He could faintly see her smile in the dim light. "Or shall I refer to you as 'man'?"

As he began to lose consciousness, he could feel the woman's hands again, placing him on the bed properly and pulling his cover up. One of her cool hands touched his face, giving him a chill, a chill he did not find comforting.

* * *

"Lord Captain Riedin should have returned days ago. We have not heard from him in more than a week."

"I am sure he is fine."

"I am not worried about _him_! I'll have his head for being late! He is probably taking his time messing around in some village. The fool!"

"Calm down."

Both Lord Captains were concerned for their comrade, though in different ways. Raeon was more concerned with the troops Riedin was leading than the man himself. Sirus was busy silently contemplating all the situations Riedin was getting himself into. He worried for the man.

"How can I calm down?"

Sirus sighed and sipped his wine as Raeon carried on.


	3. Waking to Odds

She sat in the grass, staring out into the distance. A forest to the south stretched out as far as the eye could see, beginning not far from the base of the hill they were camped upon. They would be travelling through it to reach the main road come time to move. The noon sun was already high in the sky, casting down its light, with no clouds to hinder it. It appeared a relentless beast drifting across the sky, but she barely noticed at the time.

Her mind could not settle on any one thing. Should she send a letter to the Tower in explanation? She did not quite trust Jamila to keep her mouth shut, but then, she rarely trusted anyone as of late. What of the man? He seemed to be recovering fairly quickly. And what of . . . ? Oh, she did not know what to set her mind on!

Alida sighed and continued to think, mostly about _what_ to think of. She suddenly found herself looking at her right hand. She felt bare, almost naked without the ring there on her middle finger. Constantly, she shifted her fingers in an attempt to straighten that ring which was no longer present. It was aggravating, to say the least. Even one of her guards mustered the courage to offer some consolation in her seemingly disconcerted state of mind.

Early that morning, she had told them to separate the human bodies from those of the Trollocs. The musty smell of burning Trolloc flesh had been more than unpleasing, and she could almost swear that the smell still lingered. The soldiers were being buried. It would take another day or so to bury them all, with only the handful of men she had been left with.

_It is warm today._ She began to feel the heat on her skin and moved to stand when. . . .

"Your patient has awakened," mumbled a guard as he passed, two buckets of water in hand. Probably for the horses.

True enough, when she finally stood and turned around, the Child was standing at her tent's opening, eyes squinting at the bright light that greeted him. He had apparently found his clothing, or at least everything but his cloak. It was warm, anyway. A cloak would hardly be comfortable.

* * *

The man turned his head, eyes following to land on the red-haired woman, who, by his guess, couldn't be beyond her mid-twenties. And something about the wildness in her eyes made her seem even younger. Not only was she young, but by her attire, he assumed she was of noble birth, or a merchant. Someone with a wealthy background. He glanced around in search of perhaps bodyguards or another noble, perhaps a father, brother, or even a husband.

From what he could remember, she did not act as though she were hesitant to be here helping him. It was odd. A noble helping a Child of the Light. Most people he found held contempt for them.

"How are you feeling?"

He looked back at the woman, now a few feet in front of him, staring at him with bright blue eyes that had him almost dazed. Then it all flooded back into his mind. Blood. Blurring movements and a searing pain in his chest. In his head. All over. He brought a hand to his forehead, trying to think back.

"Where are my men?"

Her smile faded. Something told him she had given an answer to such a question before, but he could not bring himself to remember the past night's conversation, or much of it, only that they had _had_ a conversation.

"They are being buried," she replied, and he was strangely left in longing when her eyes left him. "That smell. You may recognize it."

_Trollocs. Light!_ They had walked into an ambush. That, he could remember. He only shook his head.

"I am surprised you recovered so quickly." There her eyes were again.

"You never answered my question." It stuck out in his mind. Had she avoided it last time? Well, of course, or he would not have brought it up, unless he still was not remembering properly.

She looked as though she was thinking, as if she was unsure as to the answer, or of the particular question which he posed. "I am not one of those people who can simply pass by the dying." Her pause was long and unsettling. "It was a massacre. You were . . . the only one we found alive. I was not even sure you were going to survive." Those scars on his chest and on the rest of his body. . . . With them, he could find credibility in what she said.

"Who are you?" he asked, and he felt strangely pleased to see her eyes return to him.

Then she smiled again, half as cheerful but no less bright. "You have yet to tell me your name, and I feel it is the least you owe me before I give you mine." She quirked an eyebrow, and the sudden glee in her voice made him wonder, made him smile back though halfheartedly. He still found it difficult to believe his men were dead. All of them. It would be hard to explain in Amador.

"My name is Meric Riedin," he said, and he considered for a moment before adding, "Lord Captain of the Children of the Light."

"Lord Captain. . . ." She seemed to mull over the words, looking up toward the sky as if in deep thought over them. "That explains the knots." The sunburst on the left of his chest glimmered when she touched the fabric, lingering on the knots of rank beneath the Children's symbol. "My name is Alida." Her hand pulled back. "Alida el'Dara of Andor." She bowed her head slightly, and he very nearly asked her not to.

"Andor?" He abruptly became suspicious of her intentions. Could he really trust her? "What would bring you here? It seems . . . unnatural for a lady such as yourself to travel so far . . ." He glanced around. ". . . with so few guards."

She smiled as if what he said was meant to be a joke. "I always insist on travelling in a small company, though my father is hardly please by it," she replied, with no hesitation for thought he could hear. She even sounded as though she might be laughing a little. "Do you disapprove?"

"Well, I certainly do not believe it is proper," he said, shocked that any lord in their right mind would allow her to travel in such a way. Even a minor noble could offer better protection than this!

_Light! I am acting a fool!_ With a shake of his head, he turned away from her. "I should be going. I am sorry for keeping you here for so long . . . three days? Is it four now?" He paused. "And I must return to Amador immediately. I have lost much valuable time."

"Absolutely not!"

Coming from most others, he would have been appalled at the sudden objection to his wishes, but for some reason, he actually felt . . . Oh, he did not know how he felt! _Why is she affecting me like this?_ He was only able to turn and stare at her in amazed shock, speechless.

Despite her urgent manner of speaking, she appeared oddly calm and did not raise her voice a fraction of a notch. "No matter how much you have recovered up to now, your body cannot take such a journey." As if he had offended her, she turned away from him sharply and started up toward the tent. "You would be food for Trollocs," she mumbled.

Finally finding his voice, he spoke out, "If they do not hear from me soon, they will come looking. Children are in Lugard. I can have them send a message." He had not known the woman for more than a few minutes, and already he was at odds with her. And why did he not just leave on his own? She had no authority over him. Then again, the guards were enough to tell him the opposite. She had all the right pieces. Why did she care?

* * *

_What is he thinking? His body could not take it! Men!_ Why she cared at all for this Whitecloak, she had no idea. But she had tended to him, healed him. She would not let him kill himself by being foolish. "We are at least four days from Lugard, Lord Captain," she said softly, bringing herself around to face him when she reached the tent. There he stood before her, _right_ in front of her. Who did this man think he was? Right.

Her eyes stared up defiantly. It did not matter whether or not he was taller, and normally she could find it very easy to turn a man to her way of thinking, but now his brown eyes seemed different. His stance. His handsome face was hard and stony, as much as that youthful look of his would allow. It was a very sudden contrast, but she held her gaze. "Tomorrow, perhaps, but not today, or are you so urgent to land in a Trolloc cookpot?" The look on his face said he would not argue, and she was satisfied.

They sat in the tent in silence for the longest time, and it surprised her that he did not pipe up with some lame attempt at a conversation starter.

Later that evening, after she had succeeded in getting him into his bed again, and after she was sure he was sound asleep, she took up a pen and piece of parchment. Well, she had no intention of letting him go alone, whatever he thought.

Putting him out of her thoughts, she began her letter, slowly making up the words as she wrote.


End file.
